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Standing at nearly eight-feet tall, the lofty Blacktalon teeters above the heads of even the average Kaldorei male, but his great height remains secondary still to his brutish form; the whole of his body seems built so thickly of taut, worn muscle that his flesh resembles skin less-so than an old, time-defying statue hewn of stone. The broad expanse of his torso is decorated by a series of fine, looping markings - both painted and carved - that parade across his upper half in intricate, dizzying patterns. The tips of both ears are pierced by three small, wooden hoops. Vines grow throughout the length of his hair.

A practitioner of old traditions and rituals, Arikh Blacktalon prefers the bare-chested and kilted garb that his Druidic forebears often wore, in similar fashion to Fandral Staghelm. On more formal occasions, he often sports a leather harness decorated with beads, and the bones and feathers of dead animals.

Arikh's personality and behavior are shaped by his age. He often remains quiet for great expanses of time, offering only limited insight and halted dialogue. To those who are not familiar with him, the old Kaldorei may appear cold and indifferent, for he does not prefer to engage in small talk, and has been known to stare for great lengths of time, either at nothing or directly at the person before him. While not unfriendly, per se, Arikh is distant by nature. Centuries spent in self-induced isolation and the deep connection he has established with the world around him render him ignorant to the passage of mere minutes and hours, and such small engagements as conversation pass for him sometimes before he has even become aware of their start.

Despite this apparently anti-social nature, those who keep him in close companionship, such as his guildfellows and his mate, know the depths of his loyalty and passion. He is fiercely loyal to his own principles, and equally fierce in his disregard for those ideals with which he does not agree. His long exposure to time and frequent experiences with conflict have left him somewhat opinionated in this regard; he is deep-set in his ways and not quick to change his mind or manner.

The full length of Arikh Blacktalon's life spans several millenia, back to the very foggiest moments of recorded history, and beyond those, to the dawn of the Kaldorei. So long has his life been that he himself has admitted to "no longer counting," deciding it no longer important. While the Druid insists that he is able to recall every day of his life in vivid clarity, he does not often relate stories of his youngest days, his reasoning for which is unknown.

The young Blacktalon took to Druidism shortly after its introduction to Kaldorei society. While initially interested in the arts of healing and growth, the adventurous youth became naturally attracted to the darker, more primal aspects of the Feral Druid. In his training, he was removed from the social proper and introduced into the wild, where the Elf learned to survive on his own, lest he succumb to the merciless wrath of the world around him. His natural affinity with the spirit of the Bear became apparent as he approached the later years of his schooling, and Arikh was quick to take to it. Separating himself even from his teachers, he ventured deeper into the Ashenvale than he had ever done so before, living amongst the wild animals as one of them. Through a strict - and sometimes, harsh - regiment of physical training, the man's body slowly transformed itself into the very epitome of the Bearspirit: a brutish, savage creature of muscle and untamed strength. The Kaldorei had become a beast trapped within the confines of a man's body. He was christened a Druid of the Claw.

Many millenia later, Arikh Blacktalon would fight amongst his Feral brethren in the Third War.

On the surface, Arikh appears motivated by the same typical goals of most Druids: the healing of the world, the mending of natural wounds, and the destruction of all who threaten the boundaries of nature.

As of the last handful of years, the Druid has taken on far deeper, perhaps morally ambiguous inspiration. The vines that now grow from his hair may have something to do with it.

Eleila
Arikh's first love and only wife, their marriage was marked by a period of time when the Druid was attempting to blend easier into human society. Eventually, it ended due to their differing personalities and long-term goals: Arikh could not remain confined to one place, and Eleila sought a home and family. In the very end, Arikh chose to be with Eleila's more aggressive, morally-ambiguous sister, Amai. The marriage produced one son.

Amai
Eleila's sister; she was beautiful, dangerous, and completely disregarded Arikh's opinions. Though the two were continuously at odds with one another, they remained together for over two decades. After many attempts and years of disappointment, the two managed to conceive a child together. The day it was born, Amai took the child and fled with it to an unknown destination. Arikh never saw either of them again.

Medeni
The most recent of Arikh's mates. At one point inseparable, the two have now drifted apart.

Niz
Arikh's first son, by Eleila. The two did not speak for seventeen years after Arikh abandoned their family. Afterwards, they maintained a troubled and turmoil-ridden relationship. When Arikh was grieving the loss of his second son, whom Amai had run away with, his relationship with Niz ended.

Jambalaya

Arikh's only true pet and animal companion. He is a gigantic tortoise of rare breed and intelligence, whom the Druid raised from the shell. He often utilizes the animal's great size as a mount.

Arikh raised Jambalaya from a small baby, and over the centuries the tortoise has grown into both a faithful companion and mount.

As a young Kaldorei, Arikh discovered his particular affinity for turtles. Now, millenia later, he is able to speak their crude language and is considered a Friend of Turtles.

Arikh openly and enthusiastically admits to owning a large collection of "human head fashion", or hats. His favorites are "those large, ungainly pointy ones". He often wears a pointed green hat in town.

The vines growing throughout his hair are, upon closer inspection, actually growing directly out of his scalp, as if slowly replacing his hair.

He is fluent in a language he refers to as Daturan, and at a specific, recurring point during an unspecified cycle, he refuses to speak in any other language. The purpose of this cycle and the origin of the tongue are unknown, and only those members of Veritas who have heard it have collected any data on its structure.